The Curse
by Aya Diefair
Summary: Everyone thought that Ginny would be fine, but only she truly knew herself. — - Series of Diary Entries from Ginny post-CoS.
1. The Curse

**Written for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry (Challenges & Assignments)**

 **Written for The Houses Competition, Round 5, Year 3**

 **Written for Monthly Challenges for All 2018**

 **House:** Hufflepuff

 **Position:** Head Student

 **Category:** Drabble

 **Prompt:** [Word] Understatement

 **Representation:** Ginny Weasley; Obsession; Remnants of Possession; Signs of Insanity; Learning to Cope

 **Bonus Challenge(s):** Sitting Hummingbird; Second Verse (Not a Lamp; Mouth of Babes;

 **Word Count:** (Per Google Docs) 454

 **Beta(s):** Magi

* * *

Feeling scared was an understatement as Ginny was led to the Hospital Wing–and forwarded to St. Mungo's–to be evaluated for her recent claims of being possessed by a book. No one believed her when she was examined and, otherwise sleep deprived and slightly malnourished, was cleared to go home. Possession was a medieval practice; it was not normal to see it used in modern day magic. It was all in her head; she would be fine.

That was what they said.

Being afraid was an understatement as she sat awake late into the countless nights, jumping at the slightest creak of her family's home or at the faintest of whispers in the wind.

' _You were only in my head,'_ Ginny wrote in her old, violet diary under the moonlight, half hoping for the ink to vanish and reappear. ' _You cannot hurt me anymore.'_

The mirror was shattered when she glimpsed an inky ghost hovering behind her with a hand curled in her hair. Her mother cradled her on the floor of the bathroom as she sobbed between words.

"He's gone. He's not real."

Yet felt the darkness lingering within. Fear was an understatement as she felt the blot of ink staining her mind rouse back to life. Like a deadly disease, it whispered her promises of greatness and untethered power. A scar of his making she wished she could ignore, but it lured her back in anyway.

Missing him was an understatement.

' _I know you're still here,'_ She wrote to him in her diary every night. ' _Still living inside my mind, attached to my soul. Give me a sign… is it really you?'_

She didn't tell anyone; no one would believe her if she did. The Healers said she would be alright, so she pretended to be. But Ginny knew herself. Feeling different was an understatement; her magic changed, her thoughts twisted, and control over herself was not the same.

After weeks of telling herself that he was gone but finding herself writing to no one begging for him to not be dead, his soothing voice lulled her into a dreamless sleep one day as she wrote the same words over again. Sleep was the only thing Ginny had to help recover from the trauma no one said she endured.

At first, Ginny didn't notice the new writing in her diary the following night when she opened it to write the ritual-like words again, waiting for them to change, to respond, until she fell asleep. This time it was different; there was something there she didn't remember writing. A twitch of a smile was made as she gripped the quill in her hand.

Feeling joyful was an understatement.

' _I'm still here, my little witch.'_

* * *

 **Book Club**

 **Dark Lady's Diabolical Lair:** 19\. Write about a horrific discovery

 **Showtime -** 2\. Angel of Music - (emotion) Frightened

 **Amber's Attic -** 8\. "I bet if we dusted her heart for fingerprints, we'd only find yours." **(5 point bonus)**

 **Lyric Alley - 18.** Call it a dark, night of the soul

 **Ami's Audio Admirations -** 2\. **The Inaugural Episode** — Write about beginnings of something scary.

 **Summer Event**

 **Gryffindor Themed Prompt -** Ginny Weasley

 **Sewing 101**

 **Fabric:** 10\. [Object] Quill

 **Pattern:** 7\. [Word] Smile

 **Color:** 5\. [Color] Violet

 **Feline Fair**

 **11\. Manx:** Write about a paranoid person

 **Insane House Challenge:** 714\. [Title] The Curse

 **365 Days Challenge:** 158\. [Item] Diary


	2. Just Me

**Written for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry (Challenges & Assignments)  
Written for Monthly Challenge For All 2018  
Written for The Houses Competition Round 6**

 **Term 9 - Assignment #4 - Women's History - Task 9:** Write in Diary!Style

 **House:** Hufflepuff

 **Position:** Head Student

 **Category:** Drabble

 **Prompt:** [Weather] Overcast

 **Representation:** Ginny Weasley; Obsession; Coping; Mentally Unstable; Life Lessons **  
Bonus Challenge(s):** Sitting Hummingbird;Second Verse (Not A Lamp; Mouths of Babes)

 **Word Count:** (Per Google Docs) 640

 **Beta(s):** Jet

* * *

August 21st, 1993

My name is Ginevra Weasley. During my first year at Hogwarts, I came in contact with a cursed diary that looked very similar to you. I am not sure what compelled me to take you from the second-hand bookstore, maybe it was your faux leather cover that lured me in. Whatever the case, I shamelessly stole you. I want to tell you I am not afraid to write in you. I will _not_ let my fear of what happened to me consume my life.

He is not real. He can no longer hurt me.

You are just a diary. You cannot hurt me.

* * *

August 26th

I know summer is drawing to a close when the overcast skies in the early mornings leave a cold dew on the grass and windows of The Burrow. These dreary mornings remind me of when I found myself walking on Hogwarts grounds before sunrise in winter, diary in hand as I wrote to him my doubts. He assured me I wouldn't remember my visit to the coop to catch the roosters that strutted out to sound their morning song.

I do.

Their blood dripped from my fingers and onto the snow. In the twilight before dawn, it looked like spilled ink splattered on a white canvas. I remember the darkness that gripped my mind; it was him. I never felt more scared but secretly thrilled to feel so close to his shadowed self...

He is not _real_. He cannot hurt me anymore.

* * *

August 29th

Sometimes I think I can hear him whisper to me during the days like today. The grey sheet of clouds above that cover the sky and sunlight, but still illuminates a different brightness to the earth.

I can hear him speaking about my potential and my abilities as a witch. About how I can do great things with them if I learned to control and harness my magic. He showed me a few times how powerful I could become, and I hate to say that I liked the feeling.

* * *

August 31st

I feel like you are mocking me for being what you are, diary. There are times I hope that you would respond and tell me I'm not crazy. That he is still lurking on the edges of my mind and soul. Everyone says that I will be fine and I will not experience residual effects from it.

But I am.

His whispers grow stronger every time I focus on his soothing voice. His desire for me to write about him, to remember him, grows everyday.

I remember a particularly bad day I was having at Hogwarts. I finished dinner and proceeded to my dorms to write to him. A boy and girl in my year cut me off and was teasing me about my fraying hemline on my robes.

I felt the darkness grip my mind as my frustration and anger grew–I knew it was him wishing to take control. I held on, conscious enough to know I drew my wand, conscious enough to shout the curse from my lips at them, conscious enough to know he allowed me full control of my actions but applauded my success as I fled the corridor that filled with bats.

It made me feel powerful. He made me feel powerful. I miss it. I miss him.

I hoped that you would give me that feeling again as I carry you possessively everywhere I go, concealed in my bag to not raise concern from others.

However, I will not stop writing to him through you until his whispers tell me to stop.

* * *

September 1st

It's overcast again today–my new favorite weather. It reminds me of you, Tom. Your gloom, your paleness, your presence. You.

This year will not be the same without your guidance…

 _I have never left, my little witch._

* * *

 **Book Club**

 **Character Appreciation -** 26\. [Plot point] Sneaking an item away / stealing something

 **Disney Challenge - 1. Mowgli** \- Write about someone who struggles with change.

 **Dark Lady's Diabolical Lair -** 3\. Dark!AU

 **Lyric Alley -** 21\. You're going silent, the silent treatment

 **Ami's Audio Admirations - 4. The Boiler Room** — Write about something seemingly normal being terrifying

 **Summer Event**

 **Gryffindor Themed Prompt -** [Character] Ginny Weasley; [Trait] Impulsive

 **Sewing 101**

 **Style:** 1\. [Setting] The Burrow

 **Directions:** 8\. [Action] Writing

 **Skills:** 9\. [Restriction] No One Over 18

 **Insane House Challenge:** 723\. [Title] Just Me...

 **365 Days Challenge:** 300\. [Style] Journal


	3. What Was Lost

September 2nd 1993

This morning I opened you and was struck by an icy fear at what I saw. It looked exactly how I remembered his handwriting, but after I calmed myself and forced to open you and look again was when I knew it was an imitation of his penmanship in you. What scares me about it now is that I don't remember writing it at all, but I somehow knew it was my own hand that did it.

Am I losing my mind?

I was compelled to flip a few pages back and skimmed through my entries only to find that I had written in his handwriting once before as well. They both were very similar sayings, and looked so much like the sophisticated cursive that he wrote that I grew so accustomed to seeing at every opportunity on parchment… in my mind… awake or asleep.

My little witch.

That's what they both said. Is it possible that he is still here with me? Only alive in my subconscious where I am not aware of his presence?

I'm not sure if I am afraid to find out or not. Should I be excited? I should tell someone at least, right? But I don't know if he would like me to. He never liked it before when I tried.

His power is what I find myself searching for most in my mind and magical core. I felt like I could do anything with his hand guiding me, teaching me, learning about how my magic worked…

It was like having a friend—a tutor—that only I knew existed within the pages of an enchanted book. It was _exactly_ like that, actually. He showed me so much, helped me learn my potential and handle my magic better than any normal first year should. I learned some spells even seventh years could barely grasp.

For some reason I favored the Bat-Bogey Hex as my defense weapon. The older girls who dared to tease or harass me are now the ones who avoid me entirely in the corridors when I pass them by, and it gave would-be bullies a second thought when they heard through the grapevine of what I'm capable of.

* * *

October 31st, 1993

My marks on practical magic have never been better, but my potions have become subpar without him whispering behind my ear on how to make them just right. Professor Snape doesn't seem to care at the sudden lack of superior performance from me, he probably thought it was first year's luck, or that I was simply cheating. Snape is impossible to impress, and even he thought so, too.

Maybe that was what I was doing— _cheating._

Yet I felt quite smart while I brewed near perfect potions with him. It seems like I really didn't learn, however. It makes me angry, it make me miss him. His help was useful—valuable.

Professor Flitwick did like my charmed bats for the Halloween Feast. He would've been so proud of me.

December 31st, 1993

If I write his name will it help him come back?

Everytime I try I find myself completely unable to. I can't say his name out loud, I can't make myself write it down.

Is this what they call healing?

I know it is his birthday today. I spent the last one in the diary with him. It made me very tired, I think I slept almost an entire day away instead of helping my mom with New Year's Day supper. It was very draining, like my very magic was being siphoned away whenever we connected that way, but I don't regret doing it… not really.

No one should be alone on their birthday.

He did try to kill me, though. I should tell myself this more often. He almost killed me…

But I had already touched the darkness by then… and I find myself trying and touch it again.

* * *

January 14th, 1993

Sometimes I like to think that a spot in the back of my mind where I can't reach is where he sleeps. He can't hear my calls for help, and I can't rifle my way to him through the thick darkness. I like to still think he is here with me…

I want to keep being his little witch, his vessel to my power. I want him to keep guiding me and showing me who I could really be.

Why did he want to kill me?

Was I not good enough for you?

I miss you.


End file.
